


About to Break You

by heartroots



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartroots/pseuds/heartroots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine realizes Lancelot never swears, and he desperately wants to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About to Break You

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely [](http://misslemonbar.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**misslemonbar**](http://misslemonbar.dreamwidth.org/)'s fault. ~~NOT THAT I WAS FIGHTING TOO HARD AGAINST IT.~~

It’s a small blunder: Lancelot parries slightly too far to the left and the base of the blade just above the hilt of Gwaine’s sword slices into the flesh beneath Lancelot’s thumb. Not bad enough to sever the extremity, but worrisome enough to stop. Already ripping a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt, Gwaine stabs his sword into the ground and hurries over to him.

“Oh, fuck—let go of your sword and hold still,” Gwaine orders. Lancelot’s fingers are still clenched tight around the hilt; Gwaine pries them free and curses under his breath when more blood pours from the wound from the movement. He wraps the cloth around Lancelot’s hand several times, tight. Lancelot winces and bites his lip, only letting out one pained grunt when Gwaine ties the makeshift bandage with all his strength to staunch the bleeding.

Gwaine eyes him for a moment. He takes pain well. Admirable. He gives Lancelot’s hand one more look to be sure the bleeding’s slowed before he lets go. “There, you’re all right,” he says with an encouraging smile.

“Of course I’m all right,” Lancelot scoffs, his voice rough, “It’s only a cut.”

“But I’m a mighty warrior, so it’s a mighty cut. Let’s get you to Gaius so he can patch it up like a real physician. I’m afraid mine’s a bit shoddy.” He takes Lancelot’s hand again and holds it up for him to see the blood soaking through the off-white fabric, which used to be the hem of Gwaine’s shirt.

“You could say that.”

“Hey now, are you maligning my work?” Gwaine gathers up both their swords and the shirt Lancelot ditched earlier in their training and heads back to the castle. “I ruined my favourite shirt for you, Lancelot. Speaking of, put yours back on. Wouldn’t want the ladies fainting over the sight of you.”

Lancelot snatches the shirt from Gwaine and mumbles something about Gwaine’s character as he tries to put it on with one hand; Gwaine helps him when he struggles to find the second sleeve. He laughs and pats Lancelot on the back. “There you are, mate. Should I do up the laces for you too?”

“I’m fine,” Lancelot says firmly. He keeps practiced pressure on his wound as he walks alongside Gwaine.

“All right. Far be it from me to convince you to look more decent.”

Lancelot sighs and quickens his pace in that no nonsense way of his that either amuses Gwaine, irritates him, or outright angers him depending on the situation. Gwaine rolls his eyes and gets back in step with Lancelot so he can sling an arm over his shoulder. “Need me to hold you upright? Is the pain all too much for you?”

“The next time we spar my sword might accidentally end up in you,” Lancelot threatens with false malice.

Gwaine laughs and squeezes Lancelot’s shoulder. “If your sword in that instance is a metaphor,” he whispers in Lancelot’s ear, breath heavy, “I’d gladly take it now.”

Lancelot huffs and shoves him away with his uninjured hand. He frowns. “Not at all what I meant. You’re shameless.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing.”

“Whatever you say, Lancelot. Gaius!” Gwaine calls when they reach the physician’s door. He enters the room after only one knock. “Camelot’s bravest and most handsome knight… has inadvertently injured Sir Lancelot, would you mind—?” He cuts his question short when the person at the long table is not Gaius, but Merlin. “Oh, Merlin! Hello,” he says with a smile, “Is Gaius here?”

“Hello Gwaine, Lancelot,” Merlin replies, nodding at them both. “He’s off taking care of a birthing complication. Should be back soon, though. You needed something?” Merlin shuts the book he was reading and stands up, taking a long stride towards them.

“Gwaine cut my hand open when we were sparring. Could you bandage it for me?” Lancelot stretches his arm out and presents his poorly wrapped hand for Merlin to see.

“Of course! Hold on just a moment.” Merlin scurries about gathering bandages and salves, clears a space on the cluttered table and sits Lancelot down on the bench beside it. “All right, let’s see,” he says, and takes the hand Lancelot offers him. Gwaine watches over his shoulder as Merlin unties and slowly unwraps the makeshift bandage. The wound still bleeds when it’s exposed, but it’s hardly a trickle now. “Not too bad,” Merlin mumbles as he inspects it. “I’ll just clean it out and put something on it to make it heal faster.”

Lancelot nods.

“Quite the physician, our Merlin,” Gwaine remarks as he watches Merlin dab at the wound with a fresh cloth. “When you take over for Gaius, all the women of the court will jump at the chance to catch a sniffle just to pay you a visit.” Gwaine nudges his side and smirks at him.  
Merlin laughs and shakes his head. “You’re terrible.”

“Isn’t he just?” Lancelot says with a long-suffering smile.

Merlin laughs again. Then his face changes; goes sort of flat. “Uh, Gwaine? Could you… get me that knife over there on the shelf?”

“Don’t you already have one there on the table?”

Merlin sees the knife within arm’s reach, but doesn’t pick it up. “Um, that one’s dull. I haven’t sharpened it yet. I need a clean cut on the bandages.”

Gwaine shrugs. “All right then.” Faintly, he hears Merlin whisper something when he walks away, but he can’t make out a single word. As he’s walking back, he hears, “—won’t need to stitch it now.”

“Merlin,” Lancelot says. Merlin turns sharply.

Gwaine furrows his brow. “Here you are,” he says slowly, unsure, and hands Merlin the knife. (It’s not really all that sharp. He checked.)

“Thank you, Gwaine,” Merlin says. He sounds relieved. “All clean. Now I’ll apply the salve and then I can bandage it. This might hurt a bit, sorry.” Merlin’s clumsiness arrives before his expertise, unfortunately; he grabs Lancelot’s hand without care and digs his thumbnail into the edge of the cut. Lancelot’s jaw clenches and he winces— but, Gwaine notes with confusion, after the initial hurt had been done. Merlin snatches his hand back and apologises profusely, but Lancelot just shakes his head and gestures for Merlin to continue. His stony silence is suspicious.

“Lancelot. Are you literally biting your tongue?”

Lancelot opens his mouth (guiltily, Gwaine thinks) to ask, “What?”

“Well, your eyes said, ‘Bloody mother of _ouch_ that fucking hurt,’ and yet your lips said nothing. I’m just wondering why you feel the need to censor yourself.”

Lancelot seems affronted. Merlin looks up from his bandaging to glance between them, then smiles to himself.

“Well?” Gwaine prompts.

Lancelot breathes out loudly. “It’s not proper for a knight of Camelot to curse, Gwaine.”

“Not _proper_? Ah, I see.” Gwaine folds his arms over his chest and says nothing more. He wants to be annoyed by Lancelot’s holier-than-thou attitude, and, well, he is, but he’s also fascinated with the slow-coming realisation that he’s never heard a cuss from Lancelot’s mouth before. Never. Not in the tavern after they’ve drunk the place dry, not on the training field, not on the battlefield— not even when they’ve been in bed together (or on the floor, or up against the wall, or on cold ground in the forest in the dead of night— frantic, the Prince not three bed rolls away and Lancelot, compliant as soon as Gwaine’s hands touched bare skin); Lancelot isn’t the loudest lover Gwaine’s had, but he’s certainly not silent. And yet he’s never uttered a single curse.

“All done,” Merlin announces.

“Thank you very much, Merlin. Now Lancelot and I need to get back to training. Come, Lancelot.” Gwaine hauls Lancelot up off the bench and starts ushering him towards the door, his mind overcome with ideas of just how he could coax him into swearing for him; if pain won’t do it, maybe the opposite will.

“Gwaine, stop— _stop_ it,” Lancelot hisses under his breath. He shrugs Gwaine’s hands off him and turns back to Merlin. “Thank you, Merlin. Your help is much appreciated.”

Merlin smiles wide. “Don’t mention it. Try not to beat each other up too badly, now! I do have other things to take care of today.”

“I’ll be quite gentle with him, don’t you worry,” Gwaine says. “Unless he’d rather I not.”

Lancelot stomps discreetly on Gwaine’s foot.

“I’d watch out if I were you, Gwaine,” Merlin calls after them. “I refuse in advance to patch up any injuries you deserved!”

“That’d be all of them, then,” Lancelot says. He looks hard at Gwaine, but the spark in his eyes gives away his tease. “Good day, Merlin.”

When they’re at least a dozen steps from the open door of the physician’s room, Gwaine says, “So. Not proper for a knight to swear, is it?”

“Gwaine,” Lancelot sighs.

“Does that make me a poor knight, or just an improper one?”

“Can you never let anything go?”

“No. Come, I want to know.”

“I don’t care if you swear, Gwaine. You’re an… unconventional knight as it is, and I have no say in what you do. I just don’t think it’s proper.”

Gwaine leans into Lancelot, speaking under his breath so none of the passing maids or servants can hear him. “What we did this morning wasn’t very _proper_ for a knight of Camelot either, Lancelot, but you didn’t seem bothered. And I’ve got some bruises on my hips that can attest to that.”

Lancelot works his jaw. “Be quiet.”

Gwaine lowers his voice further, which only increases its husky appeal. “Do you think keeping your speech free of vulgarity will make up for what we do in each other’s chambers at night? Trust me. The two don’t quite balance out.” He brushes Lancelot’s arse lightly with the flat of his fingers as he drops his hand to his side; to any outside observer, it’d look like an accidental touch. “The latter is far more vulgar.”

“Why do I put up with you?” Lancelot huffs. He’s starting to look flustered, Gwaine notes with satisfaction.

“Because I’m very good at what I do.”

“And what would that be, exactly? Maiming? Talking a person half to death?”

“Very funny, Lancelot. You know exactly what I—”

“Did someone say ‘maim’?”

It’s Sir Leon. He’s in full dress with Percival at his side. Great. A second obstacle standing in the way of Gwaine getting between Lancelot’s thighs. (The first being Lancelot’s insane dedication to being an insufferable tease.)

Gwaine clears his throat. “I wouldn’t say maim. Only a small accident.” He lifts Lancelot’s hand up to show them, and twists his wrist to cause Lancelot just enough pain to draw a curse to his lips. Lancelot obviously swallows some sound, with difficulty. Gwaine smiles, daring him to say something.

Lancelot breathes in deep through his nose and sends Gwaine a murderous look. He tugs his hand out of Gwaine’s grasp. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Getting distracted on the training field again, eh Gwaine?” Percival accuses; good-naturedly, of course.

“Shouldn’t you be on the training field now?” Leon interjects. It’s not a question.

Gwaine doesn’t miss a step. “Well, that small accident. It’s nothing life-threatening, but still quite severe. Lancelot here, you see, he lost quite a bit of blood. And he’s feeling woozy, right Lancelot?” Lancelot opens his mouth to answer, but Gwaine places a hand low on his back to surprise him into silence. Lancelot nods stiffly. “Right. So Merlin, who was filling in for Gaius, advised me to take him to his chambers and see to him.”

Leon doesn’t look at all convinced. “Really.”

“Sir. We don’t want to be late to see the King,” Percival urges. He looks pointedly at Gwaine as Leon considers the situation. Gwaine knows that look. It means, ‘You owe me, you horny bastard,’ in no uncertain terms. But Gwaine knows just how to make it up to him. He’s been working on getting Sir Elyan into Percival’s bed for quite some time now. It won’t take more than a rowdy evening in the tavern, some irreparable damage to Percival’s shirt, and a drunken, but not at all random, suggestion from Gwaine to Elyan on the road back to the castle under the light of Camelot’s moon to make it happen for Percival. (And for Elyan as well. Gwaine wonders if either of them realises there’s no chance it’ll end at one night.)

Leon glances between Percival and Gwaine, then at Lancelot. Finally he nods, though he still looks suspicious of them. “Yes, right. I’ll be seeing you two later.”

Gwaine smiles his most charming smile as Leon passes him by.

“Yes, you give him a right good seeing to,” Percival chuckles, only loud enough for Gwaine and Lancelot to hear. Gwaine pats him heartily on the back. A true friend, he is. Percival smiles brightly and then he’s past them, walking side by side with Leon again.

Lancelot stares after him with wide eyes.

“Close your mouth, Lancelot,” Gwaine says, and then, “Lord, never thought I’d say that.”

It takes Lancelot a moment still for his shock to pass. “You, Percival— you’re all out to ruin me, aren’t you?”

“I can’t say for Percival, but I certainly am. To your chambers now!” He says, and Lancelot doesn’t even protest when Gwaine’s lands a solid smack on his backside. This time Lancelot follows willingly, and quickly. Gwaine stays close enough to keep whispering in his ear as they head up the stairs. “I’ll leave you ruined on your bed, devastated from all the pleasure I’ve given you. But not speechless, oh no. Surely not. Because I’m going to make you curse for me, Lancelot. Curse me and my name if you wish, as long as I get to hear such uncouth words fall from the noble, chivalrous, and _pure_ Sir Lancelot’s lips. I’m just dying to ruin you.”

“That’s more than enough talking now, Gwaine,” Lancelot growls. And suddenly he’s less leading Lancelot as he’s being dragged, a strong, calloused hand wrapped around his forearm. (If there’s one thing Gwaine loves best about laying with knights, it’s their hands; moulded to a pleasing roughness by the hilt of their swords.) “If you think you’ll be anything less when I’m done with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Is that so?”

Lancelot catches Gwaine by the jaw and stares directly into his eyes. “Yes,” he says quietly. Gwaine’s heart pounds, blood thrumming with anticipation at Lancelot’s intensity. He’s always like this. Gwaine gets under his skin like no one else can, turning his gentlemanly ways to shoving and pushing and biting. He’s the same in the bedroom as he is on the battlefield: desperate to prove himself, and confident that he will.

“Fine by me,” Gwaine laughs, already breathless. Gwaine glances both ways down the hallway, lined with doors to each knight’s chambers; Lancelot’s chambers aren’t two doors away, but Gwaine does love danger. He presses Lancelot up against the cool stone wall with all his strength and kisses him before he can utter one word of protest. Lancelot reacts despite himself, fisting his hands into Gwaine’s ripped shirt and kissing back with tongue and teeth and all the fury Gwaine has come to expect from him. Gwaine bites his way down Lancelot’s neck, thick stubble scraping at his lips and cheek. Lancelot tilts his head up and groans, “Unbelievable. My chambers are right there, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Gwaine puts his hand on Lancelot’s chest, fingers slipping in between the loose laces of the neck of his shirt. “But what fun is it if I don’t get to make you squirm first?”

“Gwaine.” Lancelot says it like a curse, but that’s not enough. Gwaine wants the real thing. “Gwaine!” Lancelot says again, as loud a shout as it can be while still in the range of a whisper, when Gwaine drops to his knees before him. He tries to pull Gwaine back up to his feet, but Gwaine stays rooted to the floor, searching for the best route into Lancelot’s trousers without unlacing them. They don’t want to be caught literally with their pants down. Gwaine may be a thrill-seeker, but he’s no fool; he always has an escape plan for these situations.

“Do you want me to continue this elsewhere?” Gwaine smirks up at Lancelot. He follows the line of hair that starts just below Lancelot’s navel, spreading his fingers to span it as it grows thicker and disappears below the low-slung waist of Lancelot’s trousers. He pushes his hand down inside where it’s thickest and encircles the base of Lancelot’s steadily-hardening cock with his fingers. Enough contact to get his hips to twitch forward, more blood flowing to the hot skin beneath Gwaine’s fingertips. “All you have to do to get me to move this to your chambers is say one word. ‘Fuck’, Lancelot. Say it for me.”

“Or I could knee you in the face and drag you to my chambers,” Lancelot says, but the threat doesn’t carry much weight when Lancelot is digging his fingernails into Gwaine’s scalp and forcing his head forward.

“You want me to do it, don’t you? You want me to suck your cock in the middle of the hall. Proper knight indeed.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Gwaine loosens the laces of Lancelot’s trousers, manoeuvres the head of Lancelot’s cock to a gap in the lacing and breathes hot against it. Lancelot closes his eyes and sags just a little against the wall. Briefly Gwaine touches his lips to it and Lancelot barely contains a groan. Gwaine will continue to pummel at his restraint until it’s all but dust. “When I have you in my mouth?” he offers, when he remembers what Lancelot asked.

“No, you still talk then. I just can’t understand a word you say.” Lancelot half-smiles and strokes his fingers through Gwaine’s hair. “And you talk in your sleep.”

“I’m blessed with a witty and nimble tongue. Nothing I can do about it. Now say it.”

“A filthy tongue, is more like it.” Lancelot clamps down on his lip to hold back the moan Gwaine elicits when he closes his lips around the exposed head. Slowly Lancelot relaxes into the touch of Gwaine’s mouth, teeth unclenching to let his lip slip free. It’s bitten-red and so full; Gwaine wants to feel it swell between his own teeth. “Gwaine, please. Anyone could walk past.”

“Yes, so the sooner you say it the sooner we can be in relative safety of your chambers.”

“Fine,” Lancelot hisses when Gwaine starts pulling the laces even looser.

Excitement courses through Gwaine’s body and eventually pools in his groin, throbbing from the strength of his arousal. He scoots closer on his knees and takes what he can get at of Lancelot back into his mouth to encourage him, a steady hand on his thigh and eyes trained on his down-turned lips. Lancelot shakes his head and breathes out; he looks up at the ceiling and closes his eyes. Gwaine flicks his tongue against the tip of Lancelot’s cock to get his attention back, but his eyes stay firmly closed. “Come on. I may hear footsteps any moment now,” he says lightly.

“You do no—! ” Lancelot stops in the middle of the word and goes tense, suddenly alert. “Gwaine.”

Gwaine hears it too. Coming up the stairs, one heavy pair of boots. But they’re nowhere near the top of the staircase, and Gwaine doesn’t back down that easily. He grins wolfishly up at Lancelot. “Oh no. Someone’s really coming. Whatever will we do about that?”

Lancelot does not look pleased. His hand goes to the back of Gwaine’s neck, slides up through his hair and forms a fist near the base of his scalp. Gwaine stands when Lancelot pulls him upwards, but the grip doesn’t let up. Lancelot tugs Gwaine in against him; chest to chest, their faces too close for anyone to mistake them for anything but what they are. Lancelot’s hot breaths fan out over Gwaine’s lips and Gwaine’s heart beats like a rabbit being pursued. Under Lancelot’s fervid gaze he feels a bit like prey, but in a good way. The footsteps are still approaching— maybe ten steps away if they’re lucky. Gwaine hasn’t been this hard since he sucked Lancelot off with Arthur two bed rolls over. Lancelot twists his fingers in Gwaine’s hair and, each word sharp as a piercing arrow, says, “I guess you’ll have to take me into my chambers and _fuck_ me.”

All right, harder than that. Gwaine’s sure he’s never been so aroused before in his life. They make it into Lancelot’s chambers just as a figure mounts the top stair, and before he can catch sight of a face Gwaine kicks the door shut and crushes Lancelot against the heavy wood with a bruising kiss.

Lancelot still hasn’t let go of his hair. Gwaine doesn’t mind.

“You almost got us caught, you clot,” Lancelot snaps when Gwaine stops sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip for long enough to work out the tangled mess of his trouser laces.

“Did you mean that?” Gwaine asks. Laces and desperate pawing are forgotten for the moment so he can focus on reading Lancelot’s face. He knows he sounds frantic and he must look wild, but there’s nothing to be done about it when Lancelot is cursing and asking Gwaine to… to, “Would you really let me have you like that?”

“I said it,” he pauses to wet his lips, tongue lingering on the bottom one. His fist in Gwaine’s hair goes lax. “To get you to hurry up.”

It takes Gwaine a moment to nod. “Of course. I understand. I just… thought that—”

“But.” Lancelot cuts him off, the word barely more than an exhale. “I wouldn’t be opposed to… giving it a go.”

Gwaine stares at him, breath quick and mouth slightly agape. He can barely process what he’s hearing. He leans into Lancelot’s body and curls a hand around his hip, fingers sliding over bare skin. “I want to, Lancelot. Terribly I do, but we don’t have much time left in this afternoon and for that—lord, I want to take my time. I’ll probably kick myself for this later, but yes. Let’s wait on that.”

Lancelot looks disappointed for a second, but his smile is ultimately relieved. “Another day.”

“Another day for sure. But don’t worry,” Gwaine says with a smirk. He unties the last knot of Lancelot’s laces and his trousers sag down around his thighs. “I’ll get you to swear again regardless.”

Lancelot catches him by the hair and kisses him, nips sharply at his lower lip and shoves him back to the floor. Gwaine’s knees hit hard, but the pain is not enough to deter him. He gets a solid grip on Lancelot’s thighs, muscles twitching involuntarily under his broad palms, and takes all of Lancelot’s cock into his mouth with practiced ease. He sucks with messy abandon, swirls his tongue around the head and works his fingers at the base until Lancelot is as hard as he was in the hallway. Lancelot guides himself deeper into Gwaine’s mouth with the hand in his hair. He moves Gwaine’s head back and forth on his length and forces him to swallow lest he gag on Lancelot so far back in his throat, and Gwaine allows it with no lack of enjoyment. He digs his nails into Lancelot’s thigh when it becomes too much and Lancelot lets up immediately, blowing out a shaky breath as his hips still. His steely grip turns to a controlled stroking of his fingers through Gwaine’s hair.

“Vigorous today, are we?” Gwaine teases. His voice has turned raspy.

Lancelot helps Gwaine back to his feet and rips Gwaine’s shirt off over his head once he’s steadily on them. Gwaine’s necklace nearly comes off with it, ends up tangled in his hair and Gwaine curses when he tries to pull it free and it snags on his hair, pulling at his scalp. Lancelot pins Gwaine’s arm to his his side and carefully pulls the chain free, settling it around his neck with the pendants hanging in the very centre of his chest. “Sorry. Someone’s been testing my patience.”

Gwaine curves a hand around the back of Lancelot’s neck and kisses him, teeth working once again at his swollen lip. Lancelot bites back and Gwaine moves his hands higher, fingers sliding up through Lancelot’s hair as the kiss turns open-mouthed and aggressive. They stumble backwards towards the bed with no regard for their surroundings, too eager to check where they’re stepping. They can’t be more than halfway there when Gwaine’s foot hits something—a chair leg, that noise was definitely a chair hitting the floor – and Lancelot’s trousers being all tangled up at the top of his boots doesn’t help their balance, either. They topple to the floor, but they both know how to fall. Lancelot lands on top of Gwaine firmly enough to knock the air out of his lungs and kisses him like a fatal blow before he can draw a single breath. Gwaine gasps into the kiss and claws at Lancelot’s back until his shirt is bunched up around his shoulders and Gwaine can get at bare skin. Lancelot breaks away for a moment to say, “Off, take it off.” As soon as Gwaine drops the shirt on the floor beside them, Lancelot is upon him again. He widens his knees and grinds his hips down into Gwaine’s. Gwaine can feel the heat of Lancelot’s naked cock through his trousers. He curses and bucks his hips up in return.

“Boots, fucking—boots, get them off,” Gwaine demands. He nearly knees Lancelot in the groin trying to kick his second boot off, but then Lancelot catches Gwaine’s ankle between his so he can work it off with his bare foot; Gwaine does the same for him. That accomplished, Lancelot plants one hand on either side of Gwaine’s head and takes the time to kiss him deliberately, as if he’s trying to make him swoon. As if Gwaine’s erection isn’t already straining at the laces to be released. Gwaine grabs him by the shoulders and holds him back. “That’s very nice and all Lancelot, top notch kissing, but I was hoping you’d be using your mouth elsewhere.”

“I can do that,” Lancelot says with a dirty smile—something Gwaine would never have imagined him capable of, but he’s full of surprises. He moves down Gwaine’s body, stops with his knees loosely straddling Gwaine’s thighs and starts untying his trousers. The knots easily come undone under Lancelot’s adept fingers, and he pulls Gwaine’s trousers down and bends to put his mouth to Gwaine’s lower stomach. His hands slide up the inside of Gwaine’s thighs, spreading them as far as they’ll go with his trousers still around his knees. He mouths down around the jut of Gwaine’s right hip and into the crease of his thigh, his stubble scraping at the sensitive skin. Gwaine drops his head back against the floor with a dull _thunk_. Gwaine feels hot air on the head of his cock, and then Lancelot is wrapping a hand around the base and sliding it into his mouth with his lips shaped perfectly around it. Gwaine props himself up on one forearm and reaches down to comb his fingers through the top of Lancelot’s hair. He guides Lancelot’s head down with the press of his hand, then back up.

“I think I’m getting splinters in my back. And my arse. Come on, bed,” Gwaine urges when he’s too close to coming to take any more. Lancelot pulls off of Gwaine’s cock, sits back on his heels, then stands and helps gets them both to their feet. Gwaine almost trips getting his trousers off the rest of the way, but Lancelot steadies him with a hand on his back, and then he surges forward to kiss him—an unsuccessful attempt to disorient Gwaine and get him on his back first. Gwaine grabs a handful of Lancelot’s arse to distract him and tackles him onto the bed, the frame creaking under the sudden onslaught of force. They land spread out sideways across the mattress. Gwaine shakes his hair out of his eyes, smiles, and pins both of Lancelot’s wrists to the mattress. He’s careful to avoid Lancelot’s bandaged hand, though it doesn’t seem to be paining him much anymore. Lancelot tries to break free, but Gwaine holds him down like they’re sparring and he can’t let up because Arthur is watching them for any sign of weakness.

“Gwaine,” Lancelot pleads, and rolls his hips up to meet Gwaine’s as forcefully as he can with the little leverage he’s got. Gwaine repositions himself so their cocks slide together on the next motion. Lancelot bites his lip and thrusts up harder, trapping one of Gwaine’s legs between his to drag them closer together. It’s getting more difficult to hold Lancelot down, but Gwaine doesn’t let up—he licks down his neck and tongues the sensitive spot in the juncture of his shoulder until Lancelot is panting and squirming beneath him for more.

“Curse for me again and I’ll put my hands where you want them,” Gwaine promises. He drags his teeth over the red mark he’s sucked into Lancelot’s skin.

Lancelot sucks in a shallow breath. Both his hands are fisted, the bandaged one looser than the other, and both are useless in Gwaine’s grip. “Shit,” he breathes, barely a whisper.

“Louder,” Gwaine demands. “I barely heard you.”

“Shit,” he hisses, impatient, “Now let go of me and put your bloody hands on my cock, Gwaine.”

That leaves Gwaine speechless for a moment. He wasn’t expecting all that. He recovers quickly though, and moves Lancelot’s wrist over so they’re both pinned under one hand. The frustrated noise Lancelot lets out turns to a groan when Gwaine’s now-free hand slips between their bodies and encircles Lancelot’s cock. “I love your mouth filthy,” Gwaine murmurs as he bites at Lancelot’s lips. Lancelot coaxes him into a messy, sucking kiss with his tongue. Gwaine slides his thumb through the wetness at the tip of Lancelot’s cock and moves the pad of his thumb in slick circles around the head. Lancelot groans into Gwaine’s mouth, wrists twisting beneath Gwaine’s hand.

“Say ‘fuck’ again, Lancelot. That’s all I want to hear. ‘Fuck’, and I’ll let you come,” he says as he wraps his hand around them both. Lancelot thrusts into his fist, cock sliding hot against Gwaine’s as pleasure builds under his skin. He keeps his fingers in a tight circle and doesn’t offer Lancelot any more than what he can get by moving his hips on his own, which is not nearly enough to push him over the edge.

“Please Gwaine, please,” Lancelot groans, head back and eyes shut tight.

“Say it,” Gwaine orders. He rubs his thumb mercilessly against the dip just underneath the head of Lancelot’s cock and keeps a steady rhythm with his hips.

Lancelot grits his teeth. Gwaine flicks his nail over the slick slit and Lancelot gasps. “Oh damn it, all right – fuck. Fuck you, you son of a fucking bi… bitch,” Lancelot falters, because Gwaine’s started jerking their cocks with short, fast strokes, rough like he likes it because he’s ready to burst himself. “Fuck fu— _fuck_ ,” Lancelot stutters out on a shaky breath. His spine arches off the mattress and he spills over Gwaine’s fingers, drops of his come landing on the contracting muscles of his abdomen. He sags into the mattress, panting, and Gwaine finally releases his wrists.

He’s hardly expecting Lancelot to pounce on him when he’s thrusting into his fist, chasing after his own orgasm, but he does. He knocks Gwaine’s head into the headboard hard enough to make him see stars, but Gwaine forgets his confused anger and the pain, and the stars turn to fireworks when Lancelot slides in between his splayed thighs and swallows his cock. He comes down Lancelot’s throat with messy fingers twisted in Lancelot’s messy hair.

Gwaine hauls Lancelot up for a lazy kiss when he’s spent, and Lancelot is through sucking him clean. Lancelot settles half on top of Gwaine, his face pressed into the pillow beside Gwaine’s head and their limbs loose and tangled. “Told you I’d leave you just as ruined,” Lancelot mumbles. He follows his hand with half-closed eyes as it travels up Gwaine’s chest and hooks two fingers into the chain of Gwaine’s necklace. The pendants clink against each other. “I’m always afraid I’ll break this.”

Gwaine smiles and seizes Lancelot’s fingers between his forefingers and thumb. “What, thinking about choking me with it?”

“No. More like reining in a wild horse.”

Gwaine raises his eyebrows. “You’re saying I’m a stallion.”

“Now I’m thinking about choking you with it.”

Gwaine laughs and pushes Lancelot’s face into the pillow. “Not if I suffocate you first.”

“How romantic,” Lancelot says, his voice significantly muffled. He props himself up on his elbows and stares down at Gwaine, still toying with his necklace. “But I suppose it’s fitting, since this all started with you maiming me.”

Gwaine rolls his eyes. He takes Lancelot’s bandaged hand in his and kisses where the wound was deepest. “There. Now will you stop complaining?”

Lancelot doesn’t answer, but Gwaine can see a smile at the corners of his lips threatening to crack the even line of his mouth. He lies down next to Gwaine on his stomach and mumbles something dismissive into his folded arms. Gwaine lies back on the pillows, but doesn’t get too comfortable. In a moment or two, as long as they’re willing to risk, he’ll have to get up, gather the clothes tossed about the room in the maelstrom that was them making their way to the bed, get dressed, and head back down to the training field before Arthur arrives and starts asking questions. When he wasn’t a knight he would stay in bed all day with someone. He does miss that.

But when he wasn’t a knight he hadn’t known Lancelot, so it probably worked out all for the best.


End file.
